Broken Record
by Torchwood Prof
Summary: For Harry James Potter, time simply had no meaning. He is in Azkaban, for a crime he did not commit. It seemed his life was a case-in-point for Murphy's first law, or so thought Remus. Remarry, HP/RL, whichever. Work-In-Progress.
1. Time

Author's Note:

The Professor: Hello, and welcome to Ambrose the Book-Wolf and the Torchwood Professor's story, "Broken Record". Yes, this is the best title we could come up with - so sue us.

Ambrose: peaks head out Please, _please_ don't, of course. We own nothing - nothing you understand, not even our pension! blushes So I'll be doing the disclaimer. Ahem . . . Harry Potter and all other people, places, concepts, species', etc that are affiliated with the Harry Potter universe are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling, and of course all those guys at Warner Bros. who do the movies probably own a bit too . . . Any and all other references to outside TV shows, movies, cartoons, books, etc, are not in any way inclined toward encroaching copyright. Right, I think that's our rump's covered, eh Proffie?

The Professor: is affronted Proffie? I happen to have a degree, you know, not a house full of profiteroles. But yes, I believe that the disclaimer is adequate; if not, then feel free to kick down our door and arrest an honest man and his lupine friend for daring to imag-

Ambrose: cover's the Professor's mouth with a paw Right, I think that's enough for now. Enjoy the story - it's our first, and no doubt last, if the Professor keeps shouting his mouth off . . . Read and review, guys!

(Is there a reason why the line breaks don't work? Or is it just us?)

Time, according to the Oxford Dictionary, is the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future, regarded as a whole.

Time, according to Wikipedia the Online Encyclopedia, is a component of a measuring system used to sequence events, to compare the durations of events and the intervals between them, and to quantify the motions of objects.

Time, according to Steven Moffat, is, from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly timey wimey stuff.

But one of the more interesting definitions would be that of one Harry James Potter, born July 31st 1980 - a Thursday, to be precise, and four days after the full moon, to be even more precise - to James Martin Potter and Lily Marie Potter nee Evans (died at twelve past nine, October 31st, 1981) in room five, ward three, second floor of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

Mr Potter, or for the convenience of the narration, Harry, was brought into the world at five past eleven by Healer Anthony Nickelby (died at twenty one past twelve, April 22nd, 1986), and bizarrely enough, Sirius Orion Black (born at three past three on the fifth of October, 1959), who was on hand to assist when Healer Nickelby's assistant, Kelly Seagal, (born at seven past one on the eleventh of April, 1956) was knocked unconscious at one past eleven by a coffee table, which had been put in her path at eleven o'clock (having been accidentally enchanted by Harry, who, at negative four minutes of age, had no idea exactly what to do with his magic, what this 'Maggie Ic' was, or indeed that he was complicating his own existence).

The fact that Harry was enchanting objects at a negative age was lost on all but one of the people present in room five, ward three, second floor; Remus John Lupin (born at five past ten on March the tenth, 1960). Mr Lupin, or Remus, was attentive to this fact because of one simple thing; he was one of three people who would notice this sort of thing (the other two being Lily and James) who was not otherwise incapacitated in some way; Lily was experiencing child birth and James was experiencing a vice i.e. his wife's hand crushing his own. He was one of this three because of yet another fact; he was Harry's mate, as Remus was a werewolf. All werewolves are given mates at a certain points of their life, most often when they can cope with them without running with their tails between their legs, lupine or not.

A mate is determined through lycanthropic magic seeking out an individual which would best compliment its human host, in that they have several personality differences (so that they would not be too similar or too unlike one another in temperament), they have identical sexual drives and overlapping likes and dislikes. They are not aware of who this mate is until the mate is a) born, which is a given and b) in tactile contact with them.

Quite why a lycanthrope's magic acts in this way, when, say, an incubi's, does not, even when their lifestyle is dependent on such an individual (as an incubus requires a certain amount of vasocongestion, or sex flush, and Bartholin gland mucus to function) is unknown, but several theories have been posited, most notably by Archibald Pren, a well known nineteenth century xenomagibioligist.

However, while interesting and relevant, we must now return to the tale that led to Harry James Potter's incarceration in the prison of Azkaban, which is located seventy miles off the coast of mainland France in the North Sea, on the British-controlled island of Тюрьма для проклятого, or in English, 'prison for the damned' (the first prison administrator was a very proud Englishman by the the name of Alistair Rookwood (born at two past three on January second, 1442, and died at six to seven on May third, 1601) who decided not to sully the English language by naming it something in English, and instead called it Azkaban, the etymology of which is unknown even to this date).

The prison of Azkaban is a desolate place. It is a large, and rather ugly block-upon-block building, that has existed in this form, on this island, since the year 1482, where it played host to Edward V and Richard of Shrewsbury when they were abducted by their uncle Richard III of England until they died of starvation in early 1483. Since then, it has been used by the wizards of Britain as their one prison, and it is understandable when one considers that the only place on Earth where Dementors are known to flock is on this island.

The effect of a Dementor is well-documented in both the magical and muggle world (though in the muggle world, it is simply dismissed as a mental illness known as dementia, not the effect of a most evil creature attacking the affected muggle). The commonly accepted description of a Dementor comes from Ealing Hardy's _Encyclopedia of Beasts_, published in 1651:

"Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them. Even Muggles feel their presence, though they can't see them. Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself; soul-less and evil. You will be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life."

It is due to these wretched creatures that, for Harry James Potter, time simply had no meaning. So there was no way for him to know that he had been in the midst of the Dementors for eight years, one hundred and five days, two hours, fifty four minutes and three seconds since he had been placed there on the third of August, 2000. Nor was he to know that on this date, April sixteenth, 2008, at six minutes to seven in the afternoon . . .

He had a visitor.

Six visitors, in fact.

(Very strange, peculiar in fact. Stars don't seem to work either. Hmmm . . .)

Ambrose: I think that's a pretty solid first chapter, don't you think, Professor?

The Professor: Eh, a bit wordy and source-heavy for my liking. Oh, by the way readers - all use's of the Oxford Dictionary, Wikipedia, etc, are done purely in the interest of the public domain - i.e. we mean no harm or plagarism of these sources, and are very thankful that they are open to us lowly humans and book-wolves. Isn't that right, Am?

Ambrose: Yes, and professional in fact. See ya next chapter guys! Read and review! waves


	2. Cell Five, Seventh Floor: Dead Sow

Author's Note:

The Professor: Hello, and welcome to the second chapter of our story, "Broken Record". Innumerable thanks to HoshiHikari, who is our first reviewer, as of yesterday. Doesn't it just give you a brilliant feeling inside, Loupy?

Ambrose: mutters under breath Loupy indeed. clears throat Yes it does. And excellent work on 'The Traveler', Hikari. And no, that didn't sound like brown-nosing at all now did it?

The Professor: Quite. Anyway, we should get on to the chapter, but of course we have to do the disclaimer - how many times do we have to do this disclaimer again? Maybe after the tenth chapter, we'll just say we own nothing, just to make it easier on ourselves. So - Harry Potter and all other people, places, concepts, species', etc that are affiliated with the Harry Potter universe are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling, and Warner Bros. who do the movies probably own a bit too, if only for doing that Department of Mysteries set . . . Any and all other references to outside TV shows, movies, cartoons, books, etc, are not in any way inclined toward encroaching copyright. So there we are.

Ambrose: These A/N's take up about a third of the chapter, maybe we should do a separate story just for the Notes . . . Would anyone read that? I wouldn't. Enjoy the chapter, my friends, and remember - read and review!

(Chapter Two - Start)

The prison of Azkaban is one hundred and sixty six meters tall. It is one hundred and eight meters from outer wall to outer wall. There are sixteen cells on each floor, and there are eleven floors. Each cell measures six meters across, and around ten point five meters from ceiling to floor. Since the first floor is guard's accommodation, visiting rooms and administration, this equates to their being one hundred and sixteen cells in Azkaban prison.

Harry James Potter, also known as prisoner number six thousand, three hundred and fifty seven, was, at current, in cell five of the seventh floor of Azkaban prison. This is known as the medium to high security block; security in Azkaban prison went from one to ten, and was determined by the severity of the crime the inmate had perpetrated. This was the intention when the prison was designed, as it had been discovered that Dementors prefer to inhabit high altitudes. This meant, in practice, that the higher the floor, the higher the number of Dementors.

In cell three of the seventh floor was noted dragon smuggler and three time-murderer (seventeen people by the time of his arrest) Michael Wainwright: he was a thoughrougly dislikable man, with a habit of proclaiming his status as pureblood and of spitting whenever and wherever he liked. The guards had noticed this habit, and had been disinclined to give him a spittoon (they were tired of having to clear out vile spit every time shower day came around, which was when the cleaners would exchange the dirty sheets for equally dirty ones and leave the cell only slightly cleaner than when they had entered it). However, when a spittoon appeared in his cell on the sixth of August, 2005 (his thirtieth birthday, to be precise, and the day after he had projectile spat into cell five), they deigned not to bother with it any longer, nor to inquire where exactly he had obtained it.

In cell seven of the seventh floor was a Belgian l'homme fatal by the name of Aloys Vermeersch. He had been brought in for forty four counts of fraud, nineteen counts of rape and seven counts of murder; as befits such a man, none of this could be discerned by his manner nor his normal appearance prior to Azkaban. One could ascertain a very unsavory habit of his simply by being present on the floor for more than a minute. In the past two years of his incarceration, his charm and suavity had suffered badly, and so was reduced to shouting out lecherous challenges and invitations not unlike the stereotypical British manual laborer. This served as an annoyance to the guards, and invariably his fellow prisoners when the guards retreated to the first floor at eight o'clock every day. However, when his mouth had been stitched together on the first of April, 2008, he had decided to err on the side of caution, and was silent on the sixteenth when the six people passed his door.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Remus John Lupin, Sirius Orion Black, Nymphadora Tonks, Ronald Bilius Weasley-Granger and Hermione Jane Weasley-Granger had all, at some point in their lives, had some kind of contact or link with Harry James Potter. Mr Dumbledore, or Albus, had been Harry's Headmaster at his school, Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and had built up quite a rapport with Harry in the ten years he had known him. Remus had been present at Harry's birth, had been best friends with Harry's parents and, most importantly and secretly (no one had been told but James and Lily before their deaths) was his lycan mate; even despite this, Remus and Harry had gotten to know each other quite well (though in a platonic manner, to Remus' sometime despair) in Harry's third years and the years after his graduation. Sirius Orion Black too had been present at Harry's birth and he too had been best friends with James (Prongs) and Lily. He had been appointed primoris**1** guardian to Harry (the second being Peter Pettigrew, bizarrely enough**2**).

Nymphadore Tonks, or Tonks as she preferred to be known, was an Auror lieutenant in the British Auror Force; she had met Harry during his fifth year, and while she had gotten to know Harry over the next five years, this was not the reason she had been taken along; a) she had been ordered by the current Magical Minister, Rufus Scrimgeour (born at five past nine on the second of March, 1949) to accompany the party, and b) as an Auror, she had some basic medical training, as Hogwarts Matron Poppy Pomfrey had been needed at the Ministry to treat the numerous wounds Aurors often came in with. Mr Weasley-Granger, or Ron, had been one Harry's closest friend's since the age of eleven, and had often accompanied him on his 'adventures' in Hogwarts School. Mrs Weasley-Granger, or Hermione, had also become friend's with Harry at the age of eleven, and was often drawn into the adventures as well.

This group of six had two common links; they had all attended Hogwarts School at some point in their lives, and they had all been members of the anti- Lord Voldemort/Thomas Marvolo Riddle Jr. (born at five minutes past twelve on December thirty first, 1926) organization, the Order of the Phoenix. The group had more common and present links when one excluded Remus Lupin; they all shared common bonds of self-recrimination, guilt and anger at themselves for what they had done to the occupant of cell five, seventh floor. However, this is not about what these five thought as they walked the seventh floor; it is about what took place, as they took their places just outside the cell door of one Harry James Potter.

-

"Potter."  
There was no answer.  
"Potter?'  
The silence remained unbroken.  
"Potter!"  
The silence was destroyed by a rasping croak.  
"What the hell do you want, Spit-U-Like?"  
The next sentence was delivered in the sing-song tone of tattle-tales in primary schools world-over.  
"You've got vis-itors! What's ya done now?"  
"I can see I've got visitors; and beyond breaking your nose, I've done nothing"  
"Breaking m-"  
There was the sound of hard yet soft flesh hitting rock from the cell over, then an itinerary of swears delivered through a smashed nose. Harry grinned, partly because he found the sound effects amusing, and partly because he knew he must look like the Lord of the Flies, and wished to freak out his audience by grinning that wonderfully macabre grin of the dead sow.

"Did you miss me?"

(Chapter 2 - End)

**1 - This simply means primary in Latin - so Sirius was his first appointed guardian, then Peter.  
2- If you're wondering why they picked Peter instead of Remus as secondary - then consider that Remus knew at first touch he was Harry's mate, and refused when they offered guardianship to him. He did this because there _was_ a war on, and in the case of Lily, James and Sirius being killed/otherwise incapacitated, he didn't really want to raise Harry as a father - he did intend to claim Harry at some point, and didn't want him to have father-son feelings for him. That would've made the relationship paramount to incest - which you can gather is NOT one of Remus' fetishes. (Although, if you want to suggest some, you're more than welcome to. :)**

The Professor: And . . . there! Another chapter done. Much better than chapter one, don't you think, old boy?

Ambrose: sends him a queer glance I happen to be fourteen, you know.

The Professor: Of course I know! What kind of a muse would I be if I didn't know the age of my partner in crime?

Ambrose: One just like yourself, no doubt.

The Professor: . . .

Ambrose: And now he's going to sulk. Well, thanks for reading chapter two - we aren't quite sure when we'll next update, so watch this space. Read and review!


	3. Cell Five, Seventh Floor: Firelighters

Author's Note:

The Professor: Hello, and welcome to the third chapter of our story, "Broken Record". Innumerable thanks to HoshiHikari once again, and to Naaxi - to whom we express our thanks for the flattery. Raises us up, doesn't it Amby?

Ambrose: _under his breath_ What is it with these nicknames?_ raises voice_ But yes, thanks to those intrepid reviewers for giving us much needed feedback. But we must get down to business - new business, in fact! We have reviews to respond to - ooooh, it's just like those mail answers on kid's TV . . .

The Professor: To HoshiHikari; it was Wainwright who was speaking to Harry in the last chapter (that's why Harry called him Spit-U-Like, because of his spitting habit) and the reason for the detail's being thrown out halfway through - the story, up until then, was just narration, so we thought it'd have an effect if we suddenly went into just dialogue. Our mistake it was the wrong effect _grins_. Sorry about the confusion. And the thing with the short chapters is; it's either short chapters and fast updates, or long chapters and slow updates. I'll set up a poll on the Author's page, so you can vote on which you'd prefer. Harry's crime will be revealed in this chapter - we kept it quiet for the limited tension it would give us.

Ambrose: And that's it for Review Answers this chapter. Keep 'em coming, we love to hear what you have to say - even you flamers! And now to the disclaimer - Harry Potter and all other people, places, concepts, species', etc that are affiliated with the Harry Potter universe are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling, and Warner Bros. who do the movies probably own a bit too, though not for long if they don't give Danny Radcliffe some green contacts . . . Any and all other references to outside TV shows, movies, cartoons, books, etc, are not in any way inclined toward encroaching copyright. So there we are.

The Professor: Again with the long A/N's! Oh, well - Enjoy the chapter, my friends, and remember - read and review!

(Chapter Three - Start)

There are fifty three muscles in the human face. These muscles control the expression of the skin they lie underneath. An expression can reveal quite a bit about what that person is thinking at that moment, which is why people - sometimes with things to hide, sometimes not - work on controlling what their muscles express. This is one of the skills people master after being confronted with intense feelings of grief, anger, sadness or indifference to something indeed quite different for a time -this solves to deceive the observer, or the wearer of the expression.

Dumbledore was one of these such people. After witnessing Harry's reaction to their sudden arrival after his eight year incarceration, he schooled his features so as not to betray the surprise, hope and recrimination he was currently feeling - even after having celebrated his second half centenary not seven years ago, feeling could still course through his being like wildfire.

Remus was not one of these people by nature, but by nurture. The wolf inside of him held its head high, and allowed him to show no weakness. It was an Alpha belief; weakness led to question, and question led to loss. So as he watched Harry in the cell, grinning a grin like Death, his face betrayed nothing; nothing of the sheer wave of protectiveness that rolled around his stomach as he inspected his mates emaciated body and ghoulish appearance, and nothing of the inexplicable prickling of irritation at Harry's histrionics.

Sirius was also by nurture hardly an expressive person; even before Azkaban, he had thrown peoples expectations of him out of orbit with his ebullient nature and seemingly restrained expression, which was the result of a childhood wasted in but four years in the Black household and the pureblooded training of the other six years. Azkaban too had lain its stamp upon him, in his makeshift maturity and grasping affection for those who would have him.

Tonks, a Metamorphagi (witches and wizards who are born with the ability to change their appearance at will) by nature, was a woman who delighted in sharing her feelings through what she looked like. If she was happy, her skin became lighter; the more jealous she became, the more green pooled into her eyes. So it should serve as no surprise that as she, along with her five companions, observed the man in the cell with the most melancholy of faces, the dullest of hair and dark, despondent eyes.

The last of the party, Ron and Hermione Weasley-Granger**1**, had no such qualities in their body, nor had they suffered quite as badly as Sirius or as long as Dumbledore. Their limbs felt heavy with guilt, and their mouths repeated the same silent message, over and over; _we're sorry._

"Well? Did you?" questioned Harry from through the six-inch thick cast steel door, his voice now heady with agitation at their uncooperative silence. His eyes, once glimmering emeralds of emotion, now stared at them through the small slide-able slot at head height in the door, not a sparkle of anything, not even malice, shining through the green carbon. Remus forced his voice to function, his inner beast urging him to speak, to comfort, to feel, to - he cut it off.

"Yes" he answered, hoarse with trepidation at his mates reaction at his daring to speak. He had been one of Harry's few supporters, eight long years ago, when Harry had been found coated in a sheen of blood, standing over the still and undeniably dead body of one Cornelius Finch Fudge, in the Minister's Office on the thirty first of July 2000.

Common consensus at the time had been that Harry and Fudge had been mercifully cooperating for the good of the Wizarding World, deciding to put aside their differences and work together (despite their opinions of each other; Harry had thought Fudge was the demented result of the mating of the manifestation of sloth and idiocy, and Fudge had thought that unobscured sunlight flew not only out of his own backside, but through the lightning scar in Harry's head). Supporters of both men had given weight to the story, and so Wizarding logic (Note: _Wizarding_ logic) had flown to the opinion that Harry had finally snapped; a path strewn with blood led no way to brilliance, so said _The Prophet._

The evidence was conclusive; Harry's wand had been found as an identical match to the one that had killed Fudge, the recreated blood spatter from the vicious Eviscero curse matched perfectly to the splay of blood on Harry's clothes, and perhaps most damningly, the small note found sitting innocently in Fudge's pocket, with three things upon it, and three things only; a Dark Mark in slivery thin green outline, Harry's fingerprints (burnt into the note with Sealing Wax, and with his magical signature) and two drops of Fudge's blood.

To say the Wizarding World was shocked to it's core would be an understatement.

The public, in one of its now-characteristic responses to something it didn't agree with or understand, had gone mad: effigy's of Harry had been burnt on Fireworks Night, all of his former friends (save Remus, of course) had renounced him as having ever existed, and - perhaps most spitefully - had destroyed the statue in Godric's Hollow commemorating Harry and his parent's victory over Voldemort; the metal had been melted down into scrap. Harry received no trial due to this public outcry and a life sentence had eagerly thrown Harry into Azkaban only three days after the murder had been discovered.

Not even the threat of Voldemort had convinced them to spare Harry such a definite sentence, and they had paid for it: Diagon Alley was in ruins four days of the week, several rural Muggle towns had been decimated and Death Eater numbers had swelled to fifteen thousand, with two fifths of the British wizarding population and several hundred from the pro-Dark establishments, most specifically places like Durmstrang, comprising the organization. Pigheadedly enough, the Wizarding public had stood by their decision, refusing to send a murderer after a murderer, a like against like; at least until the details had come about in March.

The gloom of murder had swept over Harry and his life, leaving not a scrap of respect or affection for him to lay a claim to, save for the shortly public voice of Remus before he had been exiled to America; no-one had time for a werewolf who supported a murderer, though Sirius, no doubt pitying his long-time friend and confidant, had asked for a more lenient sentence.  
Suffice it to say, Remus had enjoyed the mocking sunshine and bitter isolation, so far away from all he knew.

He had written letters to Harry every week he was in America; every Friday, he would walk down to the local Post Office and post the letter, the wolf in his chest yipping appreciatively. He still had no idea if the letters had been read, or even if they had arrived in Britain. However, he soon had his answer.

Harry smiled at him, far more pleasantly than before. His face no longer held the expression of hatred that seemed to split his face down the middle.  
"Moony" he croaked out, far less rustily now he had regained control over his voice. "I got every one of your letters" Moony had smiled tentatively back, before frowning as Harry continued, "They made brilliant fire-lighters" He wasn't quite sure how to reply to him, but was saved the trouble of figuring out the best way of proceeding in the conversation by Sirius butting in. He had taken a shaky step forward when Harry had first spoke, and another, until now; he obscured Harry from Remus' view, and grasped at the heavy handle of the cell door, his face leaning against the sliding shutter slot. He said one thing, in nearly as damaged a voice as Harry.

"Prongslet?"

(Chapter 3 - End)

**1 - I will probably be switching between Weasley-Granger and Granger-Weasley as it suits me, so heads up.  
_2 - _The curse 'Harry' used is the Evisceration Curse; very nasty (rips the organs from out of your body, complete with bodily fluid).  
3 - Sirius calls Harry Prongslet only this once, so those who aren't fans of the name needn't worry.  
4 - More details about the murder will be in the next chapter **

Ambrose: And . . . done! Another one bites the dust. Bit of a filler chapter for me, though it had its moments. Professor?

The Professor: _is reading a book_ Mhm? What? Are we done?

Ambrose: If you'd been listening, then you'd know. What are you reading anyway?

The Professor: _4.50 from Paddington_. And it is so obviously Quimper, the bushy quack.

Ambrose: . . .

The Professor: I seem to have stunned him with my intellect. That's all from us for this update - make sure your voice heard though the poll we've set up - your wish is our command. Thanks for reading chapter three - watch this space, and keep an eye out for our new story coming up soon, if we can wrangle it - _A Gifted Syllable._ Read and review!


	4. Corridor, Seventh Floor: Clarke's Laws

Author's Note:

The Professor: Hello, and welcome to the fourth chapter of our story, "Broken Record". Our thanks to HoshiHikari for the third time, to Naaxi for the second, and to knicolek74, Celtic Warrior Princess and Veiled Sapphire - their feedback is like a shower of gems and gold dust - invaluable.

Ambrose: Very much so. And now we go onto Review Answers for this chapter - let's see what we got. To Naaxi - we are a bit too wordy, we know, and we're working on it - we should be through the worst of the exposition, so less monologue from us, if we can resist.

The Professor: I love how you don't mention how you've framed her review in your room - he's taken the 'love' to his head you see. He's quite insufferable about it now - and to knicolek74 - _blushes_ - well, how does one respond? Thank you very much.

Ambrose: _sends the Professor a death glare_ I have not framed it (it's in a lockbox, actually). To the Warrior Princess - we're not quite sure who we're putting on top - maybe Remus' wolf is having ideas above his station! _grins_ To HoshiHikari - we're very glad you're liking the story, and we have you to thank for the longer updates - every chapter is about two hundred words longer than the last, as a general rule, thanks to your input. Finally, to Veiled Sapphire -

The Professor: _interrupts_ - The most intelligent fanfiction you've ever come across? We have quite a few flatterers this time around, it would seem. Danke indeed. Right, now to the disclaimer - Harry Potter and all other people, places, concepts, species', etc that are affiliated with the Harry Potter universe are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling, and Warner Bros. who do the movies probably own a bit too, though that werewolf in the POA movie . . . Any and all other references to outside TV shows, movies, cartoons, books, etc, are not in any way inclined toward encroaching copyright.

Ambrose: Ruined the image of were's all over, that shaved mutt did. Ah well. Enjoy, read and review friends!

(Chapter Four - Start)

The human cranium is an incredibly important part of the human body. Also known as the skull, it supports the structures of the face and protects the head against injury. However, these are not its only functions. For example, a fixed distance between the eyes is essential for human vision, and a fixed position for the ears helps the brain judge direction and distance of sounds. In some animals, the skull also has a defensive function (e.g. horns); the frontal bone is where horns, if one follows the example, are mounted.  
It also happens to be very thick.

When an Animagi i.e. a witch or wizard who has the ability to Transfigure herself/himself into an animal at will while retaining her/his mental powers is in human form, they retain certain characteristics of the animal which they assume, much like a werewolf has some of the characteristics of a wolf for all of the month; so, say, a dog Animagus, retained any skeletal deficiencies of their breed of dog, if such weakness were present, no matter which form they were in.  
The Grim-like dog that those of the Black family Animagi had such weaknesses.

Sirius Black was an dog Animagus.  
He also had a relatively thick skull.  
Harry James Potter knew both of these things, and planned accordingly.

--

"Harry? Harry, it's me, it's Sirius . . ." said Sirius as he looked through the sliding door shutter at his godson - well, his ex-godson, if one wanted to be technical, but Sirius wasn't one of these people - who had the same happy smile on his face and shuddered. It wasn't because of the cold - oh no, he had spent thirteen years in this place, he wouldn't be alive if he couldn't suffer the cold. It was because he was now forty nine years old, going fifty this October fifth. Although wizards often live to ridiculous ages, this does not exempt them from mid-life crisis' that don't take place in the middle of their life. So it was with Sirius.

Sirius Orion Black was not happy with what he'd done. He had let Lily and James be killed by Voldemort, he had killed Peter Pettigrew (he did not regret killing him - he regretted not making the rat eat his human hand before he'd bled out after an hour from the twenty separate lacerations Sirius had inflicted upon him) he had exiled his one and only true friend for eight years . . . and this. He had done this. Of course, he hadn't (certainly not singlehandedly, of course) but he felt he had.

Albus Dumbledore was a compassionate man. Having experienced his own share of emotional defeats in his one hundred and fifty seven years of life, he took pity on Sirius, and unlocked the cell door (they had a magical 'keycard', which was recognized by visualizing a set of numbers in your mind, and then directing the code 'into' the door).

Behind him, Remus shifted as if uncomfortable, but Sirius paid him no mind. He swung open the door, not caring for the reverberating clang that it caused, and hurried into the cell, where Harry had risen from his crouch upon the unlocking of the door, and stopped just short of Harry, who _still_ hadn't stopped smiling. He spoke into the reverb of the door and click-click of the other's shoes on the cobbles. "Harry!"

Harry did indeed know who Harry was (and wondered why Sirius felt the need to remind him), and who this man was - this was Black, this was Sirius, this was Padfoot, this was the man who had shouted curse after curse through the bars of a Ministry holding cell as Harry stared, shellshocked and bloody, at him.  
This was Item Two of his To-Do list, and he raised his arms.

Sirius felt his breath catch in his throat as Harry raised his arms, and laid his hands on his shoulders like a benevolent priest. Sirius felt his heart beating like the pistons on a steam engine as Harry leaned into his face, those implacable eyes looking into his. Sirius felt his tongue tying itself into his knots like a Boy Scout practice rope, as he struggled with what to say.

Sirius felt his head explode in pain like he'd been head-butted very viciously, as Harry did just that, his face drawn up in a vengeful snarl.

--

The rest of the group gasped as Harry head-butted Sirius, his hands never leaving his shoulders - the reasons for which became obvious, as he pulled Sirius back, still crying out in pain. He fisted the scruff of Sirius' robe and the back of his head, tugging to test his hold, then swung his ex-godfather around into the wall, where he indented quite nicely (thought Harry) and broke his nose, which began streaming ruby-red blood as the two nasal bones (which support the nasal cartilage) broke.

Sirius was blind-sided by pain, and stumbled backwards from the wall - which Harry had been expecting. He swung his ex-godfather's feet from under him, and watched with a satisfied grimace as the near six-foot tall frame that was Sirius fell like a tree trunk onto the floor.

Dumbledore looked at Harry, aghast at his violence. "Harry! There was certainly no need for that!" Harry was quick to reply, shooting back "There most certainly was." Dumbledore was lost for words at this new, almost belligerent attitude Harry was showcasing, and stared at him, his mind reeling at the thought of Harry - kind Harry, who had only lost his temper twice in the time he had known him - three if one counted this occasion - but . . . had he lost his temper? There was no reddening of the cheeks, no blistering and agitated huffs of breath - there was only a rigid mask on the not-features of James Potter, whom Harry had once resembled so - but no longer.

Harry had become even thinner during his eight year incarceration, a feat that no-one had thought possible. His once- angular, attractive face had become dulled over the years, as had his eyes; once the greenest of greens one could see, they were now the color of murky sea water. His hair was greasy and unkempt, the once spiky, bedraggled bird's nest now lay flat and lifeless.  
He looked, in short, like a cadaver.

--

Remus surveyed the wreck that was his ex-best friend, then took another long, hard look at his mate. Eight years worth of loneliness and longing reached a crescendo inside him. He took two steps forward, ignoring the scandalized looks on Ron, Hermione and Tonk's faces, and swept Harry up in a bear hug (though inside his chest, his wolf growled plaintively, longing for more than a paltry hug). He noted, with a hint of pride, that the stick thin figure that was Harry still retained some semblance of muscle; which was good, as most long-term inmates of Azkaban left the prison (or did not leave, as the case often was) with a mild case of atrophy due to the long periods of inactivity.

Harry relaxed into the warmth that was Remus, and allowed himself a moment of respite away from the world as he hugged back as best he could. Here was the man who supported him, who sent him letters every week from America that kept him warm mentally and physically, and the only smart one of the group. He drew back after a moment, and looked up into Remus' amber eyes and tremulous smile. Another grin crept up his face, and he laid a hand on Remus' left arm, which still clamped onto his waist. "You can let go now, Moony" he said, patting the arm kindly, which drew away and proceeded to wipe at Moony's eyes, which were suspiciously bright.

In a choked voice, Remus asked "So, h-how are you? You couldn't reply to m-my letters, and I was wondering -" His halting sentence was cut off by Harry losing his grin (for which he cursed himself) and replying "Ah - not bad. Been better - had some in-flight entertainment" He cleared his throat and announced "'The Destruction of Rural Britain, starring Tom Riddle Jr and Lucius Malfoy - rated eighteen!'" He looked over at Dumbledore, who had since regained his composure, and was looking at him oddly. "Last time I book over the Internet" he commented dryly to his ex-Headmaster.

Albus Dumbledore was looking at Harry Potter oddly for one main reason: he was acting completely normal. His voice, apart from a certain broken-glass tone that underlined the end of every sentence, was normal; his mental state, too, seemed quite unperturbed by eight years of incarceration in Azkaban. Even his mental link to Voldemort, which should have been dampened at the least, and cut off at the most, by the magic-inhibiting properties of the cell, was apparently still strong. Apart from his appearance (and deadly angry manner, which was only to be expected) he seemed just as he was on the thirty first of July, 2000. He was simply impossible, and he said as such.

"You're impossible" he stated baldly. Dumbledore was not used to making such statements, but one of his motto's was 'A first time for everything' (though he had deigned to ignore his motto when, late in 1868, Gellert Grindelwald had wanted to try something Albus had found quite unreasonable).

"Clarke's First Law of Prediction: when a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible, he is almost certainly right. When he states that something is impossible, he is very probably wrong. Now, I was never a fan of maths, Professor, but what do you think probability makes you?" Harry enquired, looking at Dumbledore much the way Draco Malfoy looks at Gregory Goyle at any time of the day.

Dumbledore wasn't quite sure how to answer that.

(Chapter 4 - End)

Ambrose: There we are! Now we have the exposition done, we can really get going.

The Professor: Quite so, my dear wolf. Now, all you readers out there - we aren't quite sure what we think of this chapter, so tell us what you think. Have we lost our touch, or are we getting good?

Ambrose: That's what we want to know, people. Well, that's all from us for this update - make sure your voice is heard though the poll we've set up on our profile - your wish is our command. Thanks for reading chapter four - watch this space. Read and review - no holds barred, please!


	5. Foyer, No 12 Grimmauld Place: Comb Over

Author's Note:

Ambrose: Hello, and welcome to the fifth chapter of our story, "Broken Record". Our thanks to HoshiHikari for the - what? - fifth time? Maybe we should have a running counter of the reviews she sends us.

The Professor: Perhaps, but enough of our ponderings - it's Review Answer's again. Right, to our new reviewer, AnnaGu - thank you for reviewing, many thanks indeed. Can't believe we have reviewers in _Sweden, _but hey, there it is.

Ambrose: We happen to be residents of the UK, so it's very nice to know we have such a ranged readership. And now onto HoshiHikari - we quite enjoyed what happened to Sirius too, even though we slash him with Harry half the time.

The Professor: He means that _he_ slashes Harry with Sirius half the time, of course - I'm not so dedicated. And as to Harry's lashing out - he only did it to Dumbledore and Sirius because they tried to talk to him; if it'd been Ron (though perhaps not Hermione or Tonks - Harry is a gentleman) he'd have done the same.

Ambrose: And as to not taking Harry to Grimmauld - well, most Azkaban stories seem to start there, so we decided to speed up the narrative, and have the reunion in Azkaban, then proceed to number twelve. Not to mention we got to make up criminal offenses - quite fun, actually. Right, now to the disclaimer - Harry Potter and all other people, places, concepts, species', etc that are affiliated with the Harry Potter universe are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling, and Warner Bros. who do the movies probably own a bit too, if only because of how cool Voldie looked in the GoF movie. Any and all other references to outside TV shows, movies, cartoons, books, etc, are not in any way inclined toward encroaching copyright.

The Professor: Enjoy, read and review friends! And make sure to check out our detective story, if you're interested - don't let the second character deter you, Ron is strictly heterosexual in ALL of our stories.

(Chapter Five - Start)

An average human, male body requires around two and a half thousand calories a day in order to function. These calories are accumulated through the consumption of food. This target is easy to obtain for any average human male who can nip down the shops and get some food practically any time they wish.

It is not such an easy target to obtain in the prison of Azkaban. This is because of one simple fact; prison guards hate inmates. Inmates hate prison guards. Thus, prison guards are loathe to feed prisoners any more than one thousand calories in the form of grey, clumped masses of what passes as gruel only by Oliver Twist's standards. This is why so many inmates are so thin by the time they leave the prison.  
The Dementor's, of course, have no bearing on this. They also have no bearing on the fact that not one single woman in the history of Azkaban has recommended it as a sure cure for obesity.  
They do, however, have a bearing on the fact that Azkaban is a swift remedy for life.

It is for this reason that Harry Potter, aged twenty seven, was roughly the weight of two large sacks of Tate and Lyle sugar. This accounted for the heavy waves of numbed exhaustion that Harry was experiencing as he stood in the seventh floor corridor of Azkaban prison. It also accounted for the syncope that he experienced at ten past eight on the sixteenth of April - syncope being, for those of us who do not possess too much time on our hands or a medical knowledge beyond that of medical television dramas, fainting. Lastly, it accounted for the dead weight which had fallen into Remus' arms which was otherwise known as Harry.

As most people will tell you, dragging a person who has fainted into your arms is not the easiest thing to achieve, even if the aforementioned unconscious person weighs far less than yourself. This is one of the reasons why Remus did not bother helping Ron and Hermione help Sirius back up to his feet. It is by no means the only reason, of course; another being that he'd rather kick Sirius in the head, then attach his ears to a steam engine piston, than help him up. This is, of course, by the by, and was not the most relevant thing on Ron and Hermione's mind.

What was, however, the most relevant was how to help Sirius up. The second most relevant was still the fact that they'd sent their best friend to prison for something he hadn't done (Hermione added to this thought that it was one of the most terrible things to do to a friend since the invention of phony test notes in 1777). The third was what Sirius was mumbling something, though a broken nose and a few tears.

They leant downwards and grabbed Sirius by the armpits, Ron at his left and Hermione at his right. Thus, they could not help but hear Sirius mumble "Wha' happen? Di' we win?" and thus they could not help, as they pulled Sirius to his feet, but share looks of identical concern at Sirius' mumbling; he must have been hit very hard to be so disorientated.  
Resolving to make sure Sirius didn't start to leak grey matter out of a crack in his head, Hermione and Ron pulled Sirius toward the specially warded one-way Floo that had been set up for them on the first floor.

(Chapter 5 Narration Break - Our way of saying fade into new scene)

Depending on who you ask, the Order of the Phoenix is a great many things

If you asked an Irish wizard, they would tell you that they were an Augurey-watching club. If you asked an English muggle, they would tell you that weren't they that new indy band that played at the O2 last night? If you asked an English wizard, however, you might start getting somewhere - though only if they were either a member of the organization, or a member of it's opposition. However, this step forward would soon be reversed, as the wizard would probably proceed to obliviate you - seeing as no-one was supposed to know about the Order. This is why, in the south of London, in a Place called Grimmauld, there was no number twelve.

There was only the nonexistent gap between number's eleven and twelve, which made it all the more bewildering if you considered the fact that Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. However, the existence of No. 12 Grimmauld Place is only a truth if you are told as such.  
The confusion that usually ensues as a result of this explanation is the reason why very few people join the Order.  
The concept makes much more sense when one considers the fact that the house is contained within a Fidelius charm, a charm which was defined in _A Fidelis Truth_ by Gareth Palmer in 1947 as the following:

"An immensely complex spell involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find -- unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it"

When one applies this spell to the afore statement, it makes sense. However, it can be summed up as such: The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London, only if you know it is there because Albus Dumbledore has told you in someway of its existence.

The idea of a theoretically undetectable house appealed to most people with things to hide, and no place in which to hide them. However, it never quite works in practice, as the Secret inevitably finds itself in the wrong hands, or ears, as the case may be. All of this Remus reflected on as he carried (he had abandoned the idea of dragging Harry just before the second flight of stairs at Azkaban) Harry into the house, closely followed by Dumbledore and Tonks, then followed by Ron and Hermione (who also had abandoned the idea of dragging their charge, and who had used a levitation charm instead) who carefully guided Sirius into the entry hall.

Remus had not cast a levitation charm on Harry simply because he did not trust his hands to be able to safely orchestrate such a spell without the tremors of excitement he was feeling becoming evident. Harry was here, Harry was here! (well, Harry was here, more like, as Remus eyed the bleak and depressing interior of number twelve - it was hard to be excited in this house) He felt his wolf spin in a circle, and allowed a ghost of a grin to settle on his face. However, the grin was summarily wiped off by the appearance of a rather drawn looking Molly, then Arthur, Weasley.

She had certainly lost weight, and certainly not in any willing manner, reflected Remus - he hadn't seen Molly since the beginning of his exile, and the eight years had certainly taken their toll. A number of crow's feet conglomerated around her eyes, and her number of laughter lines only slightly outweighed her number of frown lines. The few wisps of hair that peeked out of the strange hat she insisted on wearing in Grimmauld were grey, and the skin that had once had a homely flush to it was now slightly sallow.

Arthur had been similarly affected - the slight paunch that he, and nearly every other male wizard his age at that point, had possessed had been wiled away into a thin waist (Remus could practically hear the stomach below the rather unhealthily toned skin twisting into knots). He too seemed to have most of the jolliness he had possessed prior to the war - his face was set into a half-frown, which Remus would bet was a permanent fixture, and his skin had succumbed to early wrinkles (a sign as to the stress he was under - most wizards did not develop wrinkles until around seventy). His head was only a few follicles away from a Homer Simpson comb-over, and the few hairs that remained were far duller.  
This was not a good sign, Remus decided. The moment the Weasleys showed stress was the moment Snape showed tenderness.

_Speak of the devil, and he shall appear,_ Remus intoned inside his head as the now almost scarecrow-like Potions Master followed the elder Weasley's out of the dining room. Snape had thankfully not changed quite as much, but the few differences were only drawn more attention to because of it. If it were possible, his skin was even more sallow and unhealthy than before, and the gangly bat figure he made was only accentuated by his thinner limbs. However, his nose was still reassuringly beak like, and his hair was just as greasy as Remus remembered it being at school.

His voice, too, was exactly the same, as he demonstrated not a moment later; the sound of silk being sewn into unblemished skin one stitch at a time.  
"And the prodigal mutts return." Snape purred, eyeing Remus and the limp mass that was Harry, and then the dead weight that was, on a good day, called Sirius.

(Chapter 5 - End)

Ambrose: Now, before we sign off for this update, we'd like to apologize for the rather lengthy wait between updates for this chapter - homework and coursework have been hell. So - yeah. Sorry.

The Professor: We'll do our best to update at the very least once a week - note how I say at the least. Just so you know.

Ambrose: OK, so another chapter done. Question is, how's the story so far? That's what we want to know, people. Make sure your voice is heard though the poll we've set up on our profile - we've had our first two votes, and it's tied at the moment, so make sure you check it out. Thanks for reading chapter five - no holds barred on the reviews, please!


	6. Meeting Room, Grimmauld Place: The Line

Author's Note:

Ambrose: Hello, and welcome to the sixth chapter of our story, "Broken Record". No reviews for chapter six or five - should we take that to mean something? Professor?

The Professor: No idea, Ambrose. Still, maybe another chapter will get them typing. So, on to the disclaimer - Harry Potter and all other people, places, concepts, species', etc that are affiliated with the Harry Potter universe are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling, and Warner Bros. who do the movies probably own a bit too, but with that rather random bus scene in PoA . . . Any and all other references to outside TV shows, movies, cartoons, books, etc, are not in any way inclined toward encroaching copyright.

Ambrose: Enjoy, read and review guys! And make sure to check out our other stories, if you're interested - a HP/Doctor Who crossover, a Hallowe'en one-shot, a DW/BioShock crossover, and our detective story. Surely something in there you'll like?

(Chapter Six - Start)

Remus sent a stony glare at Snape, the mindset he'd adopted before the exile concerning Snape (try to be nice to him) in tatters. Molly and Arthur were similarly unamused at Snape's droll remark - Arthur let out a disapproving cough, and Molly rounded on the sallow man. Remus winced - somehow, he doubted the years had affected Molly's lungs. So, ignoring the raging argument between Molly and Snape, Remus turned to the staircase that led up into the house.

His ascent was stalled, however, by the appearance of the rest of the Weasley family - seemingly alerted to the new arrivals by the noise - who let out a sound approximate to that of a herd of elephants as they came down the stairs. Ginny, Fred, George, Bill, Charlie and Percy had, when they had come of age while Harry was in prison - or pulled their head out of the sand, as the case may be - been made members of the Order. Remus couldn't state off the top of his head whether or not the Order got any work done when they were all in the meeting, but he could certainly speculate.

The throng of red head stopped short when they took in the scene in front of them - their mother screaming her head off at Snape _(" - COMPLETELY INAPPROPRIATE!" "I don't think your viewpoint on this matter makes for much - "); _one of their brothers and sister's-in-law looking after a possibly brain-damaged Sirius; Tonks, Dumbledore and their father looking very sombre indeed; and -

Remus looked right through them, and began to scale the stairs - he planned on putting Harry in his room (though his wolf would have gone on a rampage if anything else had been so much as considered) and then joining in on the Order meeting. He didn't hold any illusions as to how the meeting would go, but he knew he'd need to know what was going on, especially concerning his mate, so he would grin and bear it - or perhaps grimace and bear it?

He parted the crowd of Weasley, hoping none of them would question him, and began to think he might get away with it when Ginny (whom Remus had never liked - she always seemed to be around Harry in her later years of school, and Remus was a self-confessed jealous lover) made a move forward, as if to get closer to Harry. Remus locked eyes with her before she could, and in the stare between the two that ensued, Ginny took note of how close Remus was clutching Harry. Her eyes narrowed, and when she opened her mouth, Remus began to hurry his pace, not wishing for her observations to be known to the Order - it would not only complicate things, but not even Harry knew yet!

This last thought made Remus get slightly hot under the collar - exactly how to breach the subject with Harry had of course been considered, but the thought had only ended rather - off course, and with washing for Remus to do. He had to think realistically, he told himself as he used his shoulder to open the door to what had been his room all those years ago. There was a fine layer of dust over the furniture and carpet, and Remus resolved to get some cleaning charms done. He laid Harry, who had not stirred in all this time, on his bed, and fought off illicit thoughts at the images the sight brought up. Nodding to himself, Remus closed the door as he left, and made his way back downstairs.

(Chapter 6 Narration Break)

Remus settled into his seat with a sigh, the creaking wood not adding to his mood, and leaned his head forward. His chin was supported by his clasped hands, and he sent a quick glance around the table. No-one seemed willing to broach what was the most pressing issue, and Dumbledore seemed to force himself to speak.

"As those of you who were present at Azkaban this afternoon are aware, Mr Potter has been found to have suffered no ill effects from his - unfortunate incarceration." Those who had not been present shared mystified, if hopeful, glances at this news. "So, I believe that we can now start to make plans regarding action against Voldemort with Harry present - " Dumbledore would have continued but for the decidedly unmuffled snort that Remus gave. His expression now wary, in expectation of a hail of vitriol from the no doubt furious Remus.

"Do you have something to add, Remus?" Remus looked around the table leisurely, noting that most of them averted their eyes, and replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm (he modeled his tone after Snape), "Oh, nothing - just, ah, wondering why Harry'll be ever so happy to go to the front line considering, you know - that you imprisoned him with his worst memories for the past - how long was it? Oh yes - _eight years_." He stopped there to allow his words to settle. "Sounds like the alliances of dreams."

As he expected, his remarks drew an awful lot of indignant retorts - and quite a few guilty looks. Remus smiled, and in a saccharine sweet voice, continued, "Oh, don't let me stop you, Albus." Dumbledore looked at him with chiding eyes, and said, "A very good point, Remus, but one I had hoped to avoid - " "Indefinitely? Or just until Harry woke up and reminded you of it?"

A croaky voice said from the kitchen entrance, "You seem to be doing a perfectly good job of it, Rem." Quite a few necks felt the sharp ache that is the result of whipping one's head around too fast, but none noticed it as they all saw Harry stood, leaning against the door frame, still with the accumulated muck and grime of Azkaban, and still with the glare that Dumbledore and the others had come to know well in the past few hours.

The grin that spread over Remus' face threatened to split it in half, though he was the only one - the rest of the Order seemed either shamed into silence or mystified as to how Harry was in such a state as to almost be called unaltered. Then, they all seemed to regain their equilibrium - and started shouting all manner of things, among them being 'I'm sorry!', 'You Dark bastard!' and 'Harry!'. It took a number of firecrackers conjured by Dumbledore to regain Order, and Harry sent a curt nod to his old Headmaster.

"Now, - " started Harry as he began to pace around the table, skirting the chairs, " - I know that - due to the prophecy - I am fate-bound to defeat Voldemort, preferably by eradicating him off the face of the Earth. This would seem to indicate that you - " he made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the table, " - and I, are on the same side. And I suppose you'd be correct, save one fact - I, will not accept, compromises." When the Order looked confused, he elaborated. "The Death Eaters attack entire towns, and what do you do? You fall back."

He slashed a finger across his throat as some of the members seemed ready to start arguing. "They kill entire families, and what do you do? Offer your _sincerest - condolences - but - do - not - promise - retribution. They undermine your society, and what do you do? You let them sit on government._ No more. This - " he stamped his foot down, " - is where we draw the line - no further. Now, I am going to kill Riddle. That is a fact. Now, please tell me - " he leaned forward, his hands grasping the edge of the table where no one sat, " - please tell me - will you draw the line, and let me do my job? Or will you fall back, pick up the pieces and say 'oh, well, better luck next time, old chap'?"

The speech certainly had an effect, reflected Remus, as a silence came over the meeting - one that could not have been generated, ever, by simply asking. No-one seemed up to replying, so Harry (and Remus now saw the slight sway of his body, grimaced, and sat up, edging his seat out in case he needed some help) said "Think it over." He stopped leaning on the table, and the entire Order could now see that it had been supporting him, as he seemed unable to center his weight.

Remus got up and slung Harry's arm over his shoulder, taking in the thankful glance with a nod, before leading him back up to the room, making sure to close the door behind him. When he had, Harry took his arm off, and said, "Thanks for that, Rem - haven't got all the energy I used to." Remus let out an imperceptible growl, and replied, "Get yourself upstairs, and I'll bring you up some food, some nutrition potions, and all the music, books and movies you missed - it's time you got acquainted with the twenty-first century."

Harry grinned at him, and gave a mock-salute. "Permission to vegetate, Commander Lupin, sir!" Remus saluted back with all the sincerity he could muster, though Harry could see his lips twitch, and said, "Permission to vegetate granted, Private."

(Chapter 6 - End)

The Professor: Now, before we sign off for this update, we'd like to apologize for the rather lengthy wait between updates for this chapter - homework and coursework have been hell. So - yeah. Sorry. And the shortness of the chapter - well, I can barely write filler chapters, which is all this is really. So many ideas, they distract us so . . .

Ambrose: OK, so another chapter done. Question is, how's the story so far? That's what we want to know, people. Thanks for reading chapter six - no holds barred on the reviews, please!


End file.
